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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23650615">What's normal now?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/alex_wh0/pseuds/alex_wh0'>alex_wh0</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>All For The Game - Nora Sakavic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergence, Easthaven, Exy (All For The Game), M/M, POV Andrew Minyard, no proust</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:16:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,447</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23650615</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/alex_wh0/pseuds/alex_wh0</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Andrew came back from Easthaven only to find out that Neil doesn’t exist? A barely there soulmate trope, dreams, hallucinations, hot chocolate, a lot of angst and a happy ending. This is yet another take where two boys find each other.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>62</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>417</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>What's normal now?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is for  <a href="https://twitter.com/psych0midget/">@psych0midget</a> who put up a <a href="https://twitter.com/psych0midget/status/1248506423450857472/">tweet</a> that made me want to write this fic. </p><p>I've taken a few lines as is from the AFTG books to lend the story an air of authenticity. Buckle up for some angst, but also for some happy. </p><p>Song I listened to on loop: Dark Matter by Porcupine Tree</p><p>Tell me how you like it. xx</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Easthaven Rehabilitation Center; January</em>
</p><p>Andrew strode out of the red brick building into the biting January air and felt a coil of blank nothingness tighten around his gut. The wind howled around the parking lot and got under the collar of his black turtleneck, and he felt a shiver run up his spine despite the scratchy, uncomfortable feeling clawing up his throat. He walked over to where two green dumpsters sat side by side, and upended his bag into one, ensuring all the clothes it held – evidence of the past seven weeks – landed at the bottom, where they belonged.</p><p>Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Aaron walk to the Lexus and lean against it, tapping his fingers on the hood, and snorted to himself. <em>So impatient.</em> He ignored Kevin and Nicky as they dawdled near the entrance, trying to cover up their hesitance. He could see Nicky’s worry roll off him in waves, and Kevin’s reticence was clear as day despite the blank front he was trying to project. It shouldn’t hurt, Andrew thought wryly. It shouldn’t hurt that his family was scared of his reactions, of <em>him</em>, but it did anyway.</p><p>Nicky unlocked the car and slid into the backseat with Aaron, while Andrew stood with his back to the car, one arm draped along the top of the door on the driver’s side. Kevin came to stop right in front of him, eyes flicking between his face and arms. Andrew knew his sleeves were long enough to mask the scars, but still felt hot and itchy in the places where Kevin’s glance fell. He flicked his fingers imperiously, the dismissal clear enough to send Kevin to the passenger seat, and got into the car.</p><p>“Where’s Neil?” His voice felt rough and unused. He wasn’t sure when he had spoken out loud last. At the resounding silence that clogged the car at his question, he flicked a glance to meet Nicky’s in the rearview mirror.</p><p>“Who?”</p><p>Andrew stilled for a second. “Neil.”</p><p>Aaron spoke up this time, voice so similar to his own that he hated the sound of it. “Who’s Neil?”</p><p>And Andrew’s world crumbled a little at the edges.</p><p>*</p><p>
  <em>Seven weeks ago; Betsy Dobson’s office</em>
</p><p>“Easthaven,” Betsy said, drawing a short gasp from Abby and a grim stare from Wymack.</p><p>“Are you sure, Betsy?” he asked, features clouding over; his mind, Andrew was sure, calculating ten steps ahead.</p><p>“Andrew and I agree that it’s for the best,” she said, turning slightly in her seat to look at him, and he focused a little too intently on his fingernails.</p><p>“What about waiting till May? That was the original plan, right?” Abby cut in sharply, discomfort writ large on her face.</p><p>“Well, well, Abby, do you not want me to get rid of this then,” he snickered, running a thumb along the grotesque imitation of a smile stretching his lips, and watched her flinch.</p><p>“That’s not what I-”</p><p>“Don’t speak to her like that,” Wymack snapped, cutting Abby off, and Andrew’s smile grew. “Or what, coach? You’ll lock me up for the duration of six to ten weeks in a rehabilitation facility?”</p><p>Wymack sighed, but Andrew ploughed on, “Ha ha, coach, but you’re going to do that anyway, aren’t you?”</p><p>“Andrew,” Betsy interjected softly, and he pressed his lips together. “There’s no reason to wait till May. We have time right now and it’s best if Andrew comes completely off the drugs.”</p><p>Without the drugs, he would have more control of his mind, his body. <em>But at what cost? </em>whispered a voice in his head, and he shook it off.</p><p>“You're forcing him through withdrawal and recovery at the same time,” Abby sighed. No one responded.</p><p>“How long,” Wymack asked from his perch on the couch.</p><p>Betsy shifted in her chair, but it was Andrew who answered, “Four weeks. Could go up to eight. Depends on if I cooperate or not, right, Bee?</p><p>Abby shook her head and stared at the wall opposite the couch and Betsy nodded. “Yes. You should be out by the new year, Andrew. Easthaven is the best and I’ve gotten in touch with the doctors there. The sooner we do this, the better,” she said, looking at Wymack, “Sorry about the season.”</p><p>Wymack shook his head, “You worry about him, I’ll worry about the season.”</p><p>“Happy new year to me, indeed,” Andrew sang out and staggered to the door. “Hey, coach?” Wymack turned to look at him. “Who will take care of Kevin when I'm gone? He’s kind of a full-time job.”</p><p>“We’ll manage fine, kid. You focus on coming back in one piece,” Wymack retorted gruffly.</p><p>Andrew’s cackle of surprised laughter kept ringing long after he left the room.</p><p>*</p><p>
  <em>Fox Tower; January</em>
</p><p>“Do you think he’s okay?” Nicky whispered to Aaron, attempting to whisper, but Andrew could hear it anyway.  He ignored the three of them and continued up the stairs of Fox Tower, struggling to remain stoic and blank, while his mind dragged him along a whirlwind of “<em>Neil, Neil, Neil</em>”.</p><p>He burst into the corridor and almost barreled into Seth, Allison and Dan, and stopped short. “You’re still alive.” The words slip out without his permission; mind running one way, his mouth another. Seth bristled, “Nice to see you too, monster,” he spat even as Allison held him back and Dan frowned at him, her wary gaze flicking over to Nicky, Kevin and Aaron behind him.</p><p>“Where is he?”</p><p>“Who?” Allison ventured finally, when the silence stretched on for too long.</p><p>Andrew pushed past them into his dorm room, looking for Neil.</p><p>
  <em>He would have come. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He would have. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Why didn’t he?</em>
</p><p>He couldn’t fathom a world where Neil wouldn’t have come to pick him up. He couldn’t fathom a world without Neil in it.</p><p>Andrew slammed open the door to the bedroom and stared. One bunk each for him, Aaron, Nicky and Kevin. Four bunks, two desks right next to the window. The room looked the same as it had been before he left, but he looked anyway – for an orange hoodie with a number ‘10’ emblazoned on the back, for a dusty grey duffel bag, a small white safe, worn out sneakers. <em>Nothing.</em></p><p>Gripping the frame of the bed, he remembered Bee’s advice and took a deep breath. And another. He remembered to breathe while his lungs felt like they were filled with shards of glass and his mind like it was stark expanse of open space where freefall seemed inevitable.</p><p>He walked back into the living room and stared hard at Nicky, as though that would reveal all the answers to his questions.  “Andrew,” Nicky said quietly, as though he was fragile. “Whom are you looking for?”</p><p>“Neil,” came the answer, reflexive as breathing.</p><p>Nicky put his hands up in a placating motion and Andrew bristled.</p><p>“Andrew, you’ve got to tell us who this Neil is.”</p><p>“His brain must have played tricks on him,” Aaron quipped from his perch on the couch and Andrew snapped. But before he could take a step in his twin’s direction, Kevin cut him off from the doorway to the dorm, “Renee is looking for you,” he flicked his fingers in the general direction of the parking lot. “Said she had something to deliver.”</p><p>Andrew wordlessly left the room. It had always been a pain to talk when silence was preferable, but now he felt it twice as hard to do anything but retreat to the confines of his mind, however dark, however grey.</p><p>“Honestly, what the fuck,” he heard Aaron say before Kevin shushed him before switching on the television.</p><p>*</p><p>Renee leaned against the hood of his car, the blue of her button down shirt a stark contrast against the glossy black. Andrew came to a stop in front of her, and she smiled at him – sweet and patient – but he knew better than anyone to take things at face value.</p><p>“Renee.”</p><p>“Hello, Andrew. I hope your rehab went fine,” she remarked softly, brushing strands of hair stuck to her forehead.</p><p>“It was okay,” Andrew shrugged, tossing the car keys at her. She caught them and gave him two black pieces of cloth in return. He pulled on the armbands, feeling the smoothness of the sheathed knives against his forearms, the weight at once settling him.</p><p>“Coach wants to see you. Abby and Betsy as well.”</p><p>Andrew just looked past her. “I have something to ask you.”</p><p>Renee nodded. “Is this about someone called Neil?”</p><p>Andrew assessed her quietly, not bothering to grace the question with a response.</p><p>“Ally and Dan told me. So, it is true, then?”</p><p>“What is?”</p><p>“That you’re looking for this person.”</p><p>Andrew balled his fists up. “Don’t you know where he is?”</p><p>Renee pushed off the hood and smoothed down her skirt carefully before answering. “Andrew, I don’t know who he is.”</p><p>The cold wind that whipped around them seemed gentle in comparison to the tornado raging through his mind.</p><p>“Neil is real.”</p><p>“I’m sure he is, Andrew,” she smiled. “We just have to find him, won’t we?”</p><p>When Andrew flicked a look at her, she opened the door to the driver’s side. “Come now, coach is waiting.”</p><p>*</p><p>
  <em>Betsy Dobson’s office; February; Session 7</em>
</p><p>“Could you repeat that for me, Andrew?”</p><p>Andrew gripped the armrests of the chair he was sitting on, and willed his memory to fail him. The air felt muggy despite the two windows that he had insisted on opening despite the February weather. Betsy’s gaze was contemplative from across the table.</p><p> “The images in my head are rather vivid. Like memories, not dreams.”</p><p>“How would you differentiate between the two?”</p><p>“I remember how we met. I remember everything.”</p><p>“That could be your memory’s doing, Andrew.”</p><p>He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how to explain it, Bee. I don’t think I dreamed Neil.” Betsy gestured him to continue and he sank further into the armchair. “I can feel his presence like I feel anyone else’s.”</p><p>“Could you tell me why Neil matters so much to you?”</p><p>“He doesn’t matter to me,” Andrew retorted sharply. “I’m only worried because I seem to remember someone that no one else seems to know.”</p><p>Betsy nodded. “Okay, Andrew. Could you tell me more about Neil?”</p><p>Andrew looked out the window, looking at the half-filled parking lot blankly, without taking anything in.</p><p>“He is a fucking rabbit. Always ready to run.”</p><p>Betsy hummed in response. “Do you recognise the use of present tense here?”</p><p>Andrew stiffened. He hadn’t. He didn’t know what to make of it.</p><p>“I think he’s real, Bee.”</p><p>“I don’t refute that, Andrew,” she said quietly, and rose from her seat. “I know you consider him to be real, and I believe you. But I want you to brace yourself for any eventuality, yes?”</p><p>When Andrew merely looked at her in silence, she said, “Same time, next week?”</p><p>Andrew nodded and walked to the door when her voice cut in, “Andrew.” He turned to face her, one hand on the handle, the other in his pocket, his raised eyebrow permission enough to continue.</p><p>“How did you two meet?”</p><p>He turned to the door and smirked, “I took a racquet to his stomach.”</p><p>*</p><p>
  <em>Fox Tower rooftop; February</em>
</p><p>The concrete floor dug into Andrew’s hip uncomfortably, but he refused to move. He didn’t know how long he had been lying on the terrace while the cold dug its way under his skin. He tried to think about the assignment for his criminal law class, he tried to think about the upcoming game on Friday, he tried to think of Aaron and his secret cheerleader girlfriend, he tried thinking of the bottle of whiskey he had pilfered from Wymack’s apartment, he tried to think of his sessions with Bee where they were trying – and failing – to figure out his visions of Neil; he tried not to think of Neil but it was all he could do.</p><p>He thought of a shifty gaze that scanned exits of every room, he thought of brilliant blue eyes muddied by brown contacts, of scars that felt like velvet under his fingertips, of promises made and kept, of persuasive arguments and the fire behind them. In more unguarded moments, he thought of mousey brown hair and the true colour they were hiding, strong thighs, long fingers, muscles rippling through a thin t-shirt, a sharp, unforgiving mouth that could eviscerate someone within seconds and thought about how it would feel on him, how it would taste against his lips, under his tongue.</p><p>He thought and thought and thought.</p><p>It was all he could do.</p><p>*</p><p>
  <em>Palmetto Exy stadium; March</em>
</p><p>“He isn’t even doing anything,” Seth’s voice rang out, anger tangible in the court’s recycled air. Matt tried to calm him down and Dan walked over to the goal where Nicky and Kevin stood with Andrew.</p><p>“Are you okay?”</p><p>Andrew smirked, “That is a very, very stupid question, captain.”</p><p>“Minyard, don’t test me.”</p><p>Andrew tilted his head to the side, “Why, I never thought of that.”</p><p>“You shouldn’t have taken him off the meds. Looks like he lost his mind, too,” Seth snapped from the other side, and Andrew felt the court go eerily silent. There was a ringing in his ears that only got louder and louder and before he knew it, Nicky was holding him back, preventing him from launching himself halfway down the court.</p><p>“That’s enough,” Wymack’s voice boomed out, “Everyone get back to practice. Andrew, come up here a second,” he said, worry lacing his voice.</p><p>“Tut, tut, coach. All you had to do was ask nicely,” Andrew said snippily, throwing his helmet and racquet aside, even as Kevin winced. He smirked derisively at Seth and Allison as he walked past them to reach the entrance where Wymack was standing, wearing a scowl.</p><p>“I won’t ask if you’re okay, because none of here ever are.”</p><p>“How astute of you coach.”</p><p>Wymack rubbed his eyes wearily and sighed, “Andrew, you haven’t blocked a goal in two months.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“Don’t ‘I know’ me, smart mouth. How about you try getting your head in the game?”</p><p>“How about a bottle of your finest whiskey?”</p><p>“Nice try. No.”</p><p>Andrew merely shrugged.</p><p>“Look, I will not claim to know or understand how you’re coping right now after withdrawal and rehab. But I can promise you that Betsy will have answers for you soon.”</p><p>Andrew laughed, a harsh sound that echoed off the walls of the lounge they had moved to. “About Neil? I don’t care, coach.”</p><p>Wymack flicked a look at him, “You’re a terrible liar, Minyard. Get your ass back in the game and I’ll think about that bottle of whiskey.”</p><p>Andrew stared at him and walked back into the court without a word.</p><p>He refused to cling on to hope.</p><p>He knew what a pipedream looked like.</p><p>*</p><p>
  <em>Betsy Dobson’s office; March; Session 11</em>
</p><p>Andrew noticed that Betsy was unusually quiet. He set down a tin of hot chocolate on her desk. She smiled up at him and took it. “Thank you, Andrew. Oh, hazelnut truffle. That’s new.”</p><p>“Figured you’d like it,” Andrew chose the armchair closest to the window. He always chose the armchair closest to the window.</p><p>“Thank you, Andrew,” Bee said, and examined her nails. Andrew narrowed his eyes.</p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>She looked up at him, her gaze sharp behind her glasses. “I’m afraid I have news for you.”</p><p>Andrew tilted his head to one side, giving her permission to go on. “I would like to have David and Abby here, if that’s okay with you.” He stilled. This could mean only one thing. He nodded, the movement slow and awkward. He looked out the window as she made a call.</p><p>Fourteen minutes later his world crumbled again.</p><p>The words “soulmate” and “hallucination” went round and round his head so fast that he felt dizzy with it. He tried taking in deep breaths but the harder he tried, the shallower they became.</p><p>“Andrew?”</p><p>Deep breath.</p><p>“Andrew!”</p><p>Deep breath.</p><p>“Andrew. Look at me.”</p><p>Another deep breath.</p><p>“Andrew.”</p><p>Deep breath. He had to keep trying.</p><p>The room spun around him, lights dimmed and he felt his gut twist sharply.</p><p>“Andrew, can you hear me?” He could hear the worry in the voice and knew that he had to respond but first he had to make the room stop spinning.</p><p>But it spun and spun until he felt it pull him under.</p><p>*</p><p>
  <em>Abby’s house; March</em>
</p><p>When Andrew woke up, he found himself on Abby’s worn grey couch. He shot up, panic and adrenaline coursing through his veins, hands scrabbling for purchase on the cushions when Wymack stepped into his line of sight.</p><p>“Minyard, you’re okay. You are at Abby’s.”</p><p>Andrew wanted to laugh long and loud at that. <em>Okay. </em>What did it even mean anymore.</p><p>Betsy came out of the kitchen. Andrew noticed she looked slightly frazzled. “Andrew, do you know where you are?”</p><p>Her voice was soothing, but did nothing to calm his mind. “Yes.”</p><p>“Andrew, look at me,” she crouched at the foot of the couch so he had to tilt his head down slightly to look into her eyes.</p><p>“You had a panic attack and passed out from the exertion. We had to bring you to a neutral space. I hope that is okay.”</p><p>He looked at her and nodded once. It didn’t matter to him. Nothing mattered anymore.</p><p>“Do you want me to repeat what I said in my office?”</p><p>He nodded again.</p><p>“I need verbal confirmation, Andrew.”</p><p>He steeled himself for the onslaught of disappointment that was going to singe his thoughts and said, “Yes.”</p><p>She settled back on her heels and continued, “You are aware of the concept of soulmates, right?”</p><p>Andrew scoffed as Abby handed him a glass of water. “Yes, I’m aware.”</p><p>“Tell me what you know.”</p><p>He took a sip of water. And another. “Not everyone has a soulmate. Not all soulmates are together. Not all soulmates want to be together.”</p><p>Betsy nodded. “Yes, good, Andrew. And how would you know if you were to have a soulmate?”</p><p>Andrew thought for a minute. “Marks. On the body. Soulmates are supposed to have similar identifying marks.”</p><p>“That’s correct,” Betsy said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before pressing on, “But these marks don’t have to be physical.”</p><p>Andrew looked up at that. “What do you mean?”</p><p>“I wrote to a few people I know and they all said the same thing.” Andrew stayed silent, and Betsy kept going, “Soulmarks can take the form of dreams too.”</p><p>“Are you saying I dreamed Neil?” he said a minute later, feeling a small flash of hope stab his chest.</p><p>Betsy’s gaze didn’t waver, but her discomfort in her eyes said everything that she didn’t want to vocalise. “You could have. But we have no way of knowing.”</p><p>“Why is that?” he fisted his hands into the cushions, trying to not feel.</p><p>“Your rehabilitation programme was quite unconventional since we had a tight deadline. Your mental state, coupled with the effect of coming off the drugs plus rehab might have triggered a hallucination.”</p><p>Andrew was hearing every single word Betsy said for the second time that day, but the pain lancing through him felt new every time. “So you’re saying there’s no way of knowing if Neil is my soulmate or my hallucination.”</p><p>Betsy looked down at her lap for a moment before meeting Andrew’s eyes. “That is correct,” she whispered. “Unless you remember having dreams about him before rehab, we have no way of finding out.”</p><p>Andrew remembered a frightened rabbit and an unforgiving person rolled into one, he remembered vicious scars hidden beneath layers of clothing, he remembered a dusty binder crammed with money, he remembered angry German and taunts spat out in French. He sighed.</p><p>He did not know the difference between dreaming and remembering.</p><p>*</p><p>
  <em>Palmetto; April</em>
</p><p>March passed by in a blur of matches, disappointment, assignments and pain. Andrew walked through everything stoically, a passerby in his own life. Every new day brought with it a slew of the mundane and a cutting lack of Neil. Andrew ached from somewhere within, but refused to acknowledge it. He liked to think of himself as self-destructive, not stupid, and right now, he did not wanted to be either.</p><p>He padded out into the kitchen to fix himself coffee and found Kevin staring at him instead. “Something interesting in my face, Day?”</p><p>Kevin shook his head. “Meet me and coach in half-an-hour at court.”</p><p>“What makes you think I’m moving? It’s the weekend,” he drawled, stretching out on the couch. Kevin shook his head and stepped out with a “Be there, Minyard.” Andrew let his head fall back on the couch with a <em>thunk</em>. Some days he hated Kevin. But on six days out of seven, it was himself he hated the most.</p><p>Forty-five minutes later, he walked into the lounge of the stadium to find Wymack and Kevin in a heated discussion. “We have to go now.”</p><p>“We have time, what’s the necessity to leave-”</p><p>“Now, Kevin.”</p><p>Both of them turned to find Andrew lounging against the wall, a lollipop stuck firmly in his mouth.</p><p>“Aren’t you a little old for that,” Kevin asked, moving past him into Wymack’s office, and Wymack put his head in his hands. Andrew sat across from him without comment, and put up his feet on the low table.</p><p>“Minyard.”</p><p>“Coach.”</p><p>“We’re going to Arizona tomorrow. Pack light.”</p><p>“That’s a six-hour flight, coach,” Andrew said without looking up from his phone.</p><p>“Good to know,” was all he offered in return before getting up.</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Why what?”</p><p>“What’s in Arizona?”</p><p>“A possible recruit. I would give you details, but I also know that you wouldn’t be interested.”</p><p>Andrew flicked a piece of lint off his shirt, “You’re always right. But why am I needed?”</p><p>“Because Kevin is coming and I remember you saying watching him is a full-time job.”</p><p>“Damn, coach, didn’t know you listened,” Andrew sniped back, getting off the couch and walking back the way he came in.</p><p>*</p><p>
  <em>Millport, Arizona; April</em>
</p><p>Andrew hated flying. Every time he boarded a flight, he was convinced it was going to be his last. What he didn’t admit – even to himself – was that he wouldn’t mind if that was to be the case. He sat as far away from the window as he could and tried to tune out Wymack and Kevin talking strategy and Exy.</p><p>Every time he closed his eyes, all that he could think of was Neil. Andrew was sure that his imagination was incapable of producing something this vivid, vicious and interesting. He spoke to no one about it – not Renee, not Betsy, sometimes not even to himself. He had no explanation for his obsession.</p><p>Half-a-day later and a sparsely packed airport later, the three of them trooped in to a makeshift Exy court to watch a bunch of high school kids make a fool of themselves. Andrew walked out fifteen minutes into the game. Bee would call him out on his apathy, but Bee wasn’t here and he was in no mood to sit and watch a shoddy match. He walked to the entrance of the school and pulled up a game on his phone. He felt restless, itchy, like he was a size too big for his body.</p><p>Minutes dragged by; time felt like a sluggish concept. When people started pouring out of the building, Andrew waited for five minutes before going back in. The match was over and the locker room was full of sweaty teenagers that he had no interest in being around. Andrew leaned against the wall of the lounge and waited. After what seemed ages, Kevin walked out and perched on the entertainment center. Andrew heard voices coming in from the room beyond but stayed put. The lights went out as time dragged on. Andrew fidgeted.</p><p>Ten minutes later, he straightened up as someone came flying through the door, clearly in a hurry to get away, and Andrew moved without thinking. He picked up an Exy racquet that someone had tossed carelessly to the floor, gripped it hard, and slammed it into the stomach of the person, sending them gasping to the floor, thwarting any attempt to get away.</p><p>Wymack and another man burst in through the door next. “God damn it Minyard, this is why we can’t have nice things,” he snapped, even as the other man hovered next to them uncertainly. The boy on the floor coughed harshly, slung his arm around his midriff and looked up at Andrew with a look of pure loathing on his face, and Andrew froze.</p><p>“Andrew’s a bit raw on manners,” he heard Wymack say even as the boy stood up, anger simmering in his eyes. Andrew faintly registered the Exy racquet clattering to the ground from his limp hand, he barely noticed Wymack talking in the background, Kevin clambering down from his perch and walking toward them; everything else but the boy standing in front of him receded into the background.</p><p>He had brown hair, brown eyes, a shifty gaze, mouth stretched in anger, a number of scars on his collarbone and forearms, faded clothes and a duffel bag clutched in his right hand, and Andrew had no breath left in his lungs. After what felt like a breathless eternity, Kevin’s voice cut through the fog in his head, bringing him back to the present, “If we are done here, can we discuss Neil’s contract.”</p><p>Andrew stood still as a statue, but Neil’s name barreled into his consciousness like a freight train.</p><p>
  <em>Neil.</em>
</p><p>Oblivious to his turmoil, Wymack introduced them, “Minyard, this is Josten. Josten, Minyard.”</p><p>
  <em>Josten.</em>
</p><p>Neil scowled and Andrew stared. He stared until Neil’s expression dipped into uncertainty; he watched the minute it shifted to suspicion, confusion and then to one of barely repressed curiosity. Neil shifted a little closer, eyes still suspicious, stance still on fight or flight mode, thoroughly ignoring the room around him. Something like understanding flickered between them and Andrew struggled to ground himself.</p><p> “It’s you,” Neil breathed out finally, and Andrew flinched. His mind was a constant stream of disbelief; hope caught somewhere in the undercurrent. In the distance, he heard someone call his name, but his mind filtered out all insignificant details.</p><p>Everything around Andrew kept crumbling and fixing itself even as the seconds ticked by, before he finally found his voice.</p><p>“I thought you were a side-effect of the drugs.”</p><p>A beat of silence later, Neil spoke, voice clear and strong, and a tad disbelieving, “I am not a hallucination.”</p><p>And Andrew’s world tilted sideways.</p>
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